


Maul The World

by MsPeppernose



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cats, Cuddling, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Pete looks down at his hands, he doesn’t see long, thick fingers. He doesn’t see bitten-off nails and peeling skin around his thumb nail where he chews it off. He doesn’t see any skin at all, which would be a decent place to start. Instead, he sees rounded paws covered in soft, black fur. Which is. What? He’s a…cat?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maul The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immoral_crow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/gifts).



> As requested by Immoral Crow many months ago when I was scrounging for prompts, " people being magically turned into animals and being cared for and then them falling in love when they get turned back...", except I think these boys are in love anyway...  
> Also forever grateful to Immoral Crow for beta and for the title! <3

Pete stretches a little when he wakes. He often sleeps in the foetal position, but this time he’s entirely curled up into himself. He’s warm and cosy and doesn’t feel like moving too much, but something feels a little off. He wasn’t drinking last night, but he feels mentally foggy. Maybe he’s been over doing things recently in the studio.

As his mind uncurls itself from sleep a little more, he feels a veil of discomfort creeping over him. Something’s definitely off and he can’t think what, so he stretches again, trying to figure it out. His body feels the wrong shape, maybe even the wrong size, and while he’s gone through years of feeling unsettled in his own skin, this is different. He stretches again, and yes, something is _off_.

He moves his limbs a bit, and _huh_. That’s weird. 

His arms don’t work in the same way, his legs don’t do the things he wants them to. Hs entire body is not cooperating, but he manages to get onto all fours. And then he opens his eyes. 

He wasn’t drinking last night, he certainly doesn’t remember taking any sort of drugs, especially something hallucinogenic, and he’s been mentally stable enough lately that he doesn’t think he’s having any sort of episode.

And yet any of those things might explain why, when he looks down at his hands, he doesn’t see long, thick fingers. He doesn’t see bitten-off nails and peeling skin around his thumb nail where he chews it off. He doesn’t see any skin at all, which would be a decent place to start. Instead, he sees rounded paws covered in soft, black fur. Which is. What? He’s a…cat?

He tries to look at the rest of himself, turning, twisting around and stretching, and that seems to be _cat_ too. He can flex his nails which feels really goddamn strange, but they’re _claws_. His belly is not flat, hard earned muscle; it’s fucking soft, warm fluff instead. He has to stay on all fours which is very fucking strange, and both his eyesight and his hearing are heightened, which is a lot to get used to.

And he has a tail, a fucking tail. Which he thinks is kind of cool actually, as he swishes it back and forth a little. But it’s still a tail he didn’t have last night. This is weird.

He hops down off his bed, and he lands easily on all fours. Maybe his body knows more about all of this than he does because it reacts without effort. Maybe some things are automatic. He walks over to his full length mirror, the one he took pictures of himself in just yesterday, proudly posing with his shirt off, and it seems that he really is a fucking cat.

His fur is solid black, sleek and shiny. He’s lean and wiry, and he looks pretty fucking cute -- for a cat. His eyes are the deep brown they were, but now they’re flecked with green too, though he can still see himself in there somewhere. Pete opens his mouth, and just as he expected, his human voice is gone and he meows, a high, sweet cry that feels nothing but strange.

He finds that his new body is much more pliant than he used to be, and he spends more than a few minutes sitting and standing and turning around, walking back and forth and watching his cat-self in the mirror trying to see what he can do. This is bizarre, and he needs to sit the fuck down again.

Okay, admittedly he does check if he can lick his own balls. He’s seen dogs and cats alike do that a hundred times, and it’s worth checking if his lithe cat body can do the same. It’s not even that he _wants_ to lick his own balls, but he can. It does feel nice though, so he can understand why animals spend so goddamn long doing it so unashamedly. Maybe he can try that again when he has more time. For now he’s got more pressing matters to take care of. For example, how the fuck he’s going to do _anything_ now that he’s feline.

All things considered, Pete feels like he should get a gold fucking medal for how well he’s handling this. Maybe it’s a _cat_ thing that’s helping him stay so calm, but he’s going to rub it in his therapists face to show her just how well he can handle change, thank you very much. There’s the familiar low hum of anxiety in the background, be he almost always has that anyway, and he thinks part of the reason he’s calm is that he hasn’t even begun trying to figure out how or why this is happening.

Even if he’s dealing with things better than expected, he’s still going to need some help, so of course he needs to find the person that always helps him. That would be Patrick.

The thing is though, that he and Pete had a stupid fucking row last night. It was a big one, and things got heated over lyrics or a chorus progression or _something_ that in retrospect, after a long night, feels insignificant. Patrick was pretty fucking angry though, and he’d been so fed up with Pete, and with recording too. It hadn’t come to blows, but Patrick stormed off out of the studio. Pete sent numerous text messages, first being childish and continuing the fight, and then halfway apologising without actually saying the words. Patrick hadn’t responded at all, Pete had fallen asleep at some point, and then woken up like _this_.

Row or not though, Pete needs help.

It sort of feels like an adventure getting to Patrick’s place, but not necessarily an adventure that Pete enjoys. He feels too small, like someone’s going to step on him or squash him so he’s hyper-aware of everything. Not to mention that he’s technically naked even if every inch of him is covered in fur, and it’s both freeing and terrifying all at once. It feels too fucking weird for words to be out running around like this, but he’s quick, and he can weave in and out of crowds, around people and between their feet. When there’s a dog on the sidewalk, Pete jumps up onto window ledges or walls to get out of their way, and he likes how agile he is now. It’s not that far, but he’s just a little cat with little legs to carry him, so it feels far today.

He makes it to Patrick’s apartment block, but now he’s going to have to get inside, which he didn’t consider when he set off. Usually he has his own fucking keys, but obviously he has no pockets because he’s naked and furry, and he can’t even ring the buzzer. Even if he managed to press the button he can’t talk to tell Patrick to let him in. Who in their right mind would open the door to a meow?

So he sits on the doorstep and waits. And then he waits some more. A few people go in and out, and Pete gets some head pats for his troubles from residents and passers-by, he’s good at this cat thing, but there’s no Patrick.

Pete is giving up hope. Maybe Patrick is in the studio today after all, maybe he’s with friends, maybe he’s anywhere on the planet other than his apartment, and Pete is feeling sad and hungry, curled up with his tail around him, by the time the door opens again. This time Pete feels a wash of relief, because he knows those sneakers.

Patrick doesn’t spot him, but why would he be looking for a little black cat anyway, and Pete has to get himself moving and break into a little run to keep up with Patrick’s stride.

 _Meow_ Pete calls, wishing he had his actual voice to help him. Patrick either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care, because there’s no reaction. Pete tries again. _Meow_. This time Patrick looks down. “Hey, little cat.” Pete meows again, and Patrick smiles. He doesn’t stop though, he obviously has no idea that it’s _Pete_ that’s stuck inside the body of a cat, and to Patrick this is just a little stray cat saying hello. “You’re following me?”

Patrick crosses the street, and Pete has to dodge and weave between people to keep up, until Patrick glances down and seems surprised that Pete is still with him. “I have to go to the grocery store, cat. You can’t come in with me, okay?” Pete meows back in reply, he’s fine with waiting outside, and Patrick shakes his head like he’s realising he’s having a conversation with a cat.

Patrick doesn’t seem surprised that the little black cat is still waiting for him outside the store. Pete follows him home again, trotting along, and he loves how light he is on his feet now that he’s a cat. He dodges Patrick’s swinging grocery bag and all of the people that happen to get in Pete’s way. “You’re still with me, cat? Don’t you have a home?” Pete meows again, because he doesn’t have any other way to answer, but he’s not sure if his meow means yes or no.

They keep walking until they get to Patrick’s apartment block again, and then Patrick stops. Pete winds himself between Patrick’s ankles, brushes himself against the calf muscles. Really Pete just wants to show some affection. If he was still a human he’d be texting Patrick and saying he’s an asshole by now, so maybe this is the cat equivalent. 

“You can’t come in cat.”  
_Meow_.  
“Why do you even want to?”  
_Meow_.  
“Fine. But you can’t stay.”  
_Meow_.  
“In.” That sounds like a win to Pete.

Patrick opens the door wide enough and Pete trots in. He obviously knows where he’s going, he’s been in Patrick’s apartment almost as many times as he’s been in his own, and Patrick gives him a quizzical look when Pete stops at the elevator door, waiting. 

“How do you know- Never mind.” Patrick stops himself muttering. “I’m talking to a cat. Of course he doesn’t know where I live.”

Patrick lets Pete in and Pete doesn’t hesitate, heading to the kitchen where he knows Patrick will go to put his groceries away. Pete winds himself around Patrick’s ankles again, brushing himself against the denim of his jeans until Patrick swears under his breath when he nearly trips over Pete. Pete takes this as a sign to jump up on the breakfast bar so that he’s out of the way, and he may still be getting used to his cat body, but he makes the jump easily. He sits there expectantly, watching as Patrick putters around, fixing himself something to eat. He looks thoughtfully at Pete and then sets out a little bowl of milk for him.

Pete is fucking thrilled, and not just because he’s parched from all his walking today. He feels so much affection for Patrick looking after him, even if Patrick doesn’t actually know it’s Pete he’s looking after.

Patrick settles on the sofa with his sandwich, and flicks on the television for background noise maybe, because he has his laptop open on the seat beside him. Pete finishes his milk - which is fucking hard to drink considering he can’t pick up the bowl to drink from it, how do cats do this? - and goes to sit right beside Patrick. When he feels brave, he moves in close so that his front paws tip off Patrick’s thigh and Patrick balances his plate on his lap so that he can scratch Pete’s head and down the back of his neck. 

He feels his anxiety loosen a little under Patrick’s hand, and maybe that’s a cat thing, but then again it’s always been this way.

“So, you don’t have an owner? You don’t have a tag or a collar so I guess you don’t.” Patrick scritches him under his chin and Pete closes his eyes and leans against it. “You’re a sweet cat, though. How do you not belong to someone?”

 _I belong to you,_ Pete thinks. He’s belonged to Patrick as long as they’ve known each other. He rubs his face against Patrick’s hand, rubbing the side of his mouth against Patrick’s skin. He’s seen cats do it before, and he knows it means _marking_ or maybe even _claiming_. He’s rubbed his face against Patrick so many times before, either cuddling in a bunk or on stage when they play. It’s a similar gesture, but he’s never connected the dots before. Perhaps he’s always been trying to claim Patrick, or at least show affection on that very basic, animalistic level.

“Are you hungry?” Patrick asks. “You probably are. I have something.” He gets up and heads to the cupboard under the sink, and pulls out a box of cat food. “There was another little cat outside a while back that looked like a stray so I fed it. The security guy told me off, said leaving out cat food would attract more wildlife, so I had to stop. But are you hungry?”

Pete is hungry, but the thought of eating _cat food_ is less than appealing. Though it seems that his cat body actually likes the idea, because what would normally be a foul, strong smell to him, smells fucking delicious, and he tucks in. He thinks that if he’s ever lucky enough to be a real boy again no one is ever going to let him live down the fact that he’s eaten cat food, but for now he’s happy to have food in his belly. When he’s done, he joins Patrick again on the couch.

Patrick obviously doesn’t really allow Pete to crawl right into his lap when Pete is human, so maybe Pete is taking advantage, but he thinks it’s no harm, there’s no sinister intent behind it. Pete just needs comfort and warmth, and Patrick smells nice, so he thinks that he’d be forgiven.

Patrick lets him, no complaints, and scratches him behind the ears. Pete settles his head down, leaning in towards Patrick’s hand and enjoying the comfort of his touch. A low rumbling startles Pete, and he lifts his head to check what it is. Patrick continues to pet him unconcerned by the weird noise. Pete then realises it’s coming from somewhere inside him, somewhere behind his throat. 

He’s purring, content. 

Pete doesn’t fight it, and he settles in for a quick little cat nap while Patrick sets some things up on his laptop. Occasionally Patrick sniffs a little, and once or twice he rubs his eyes, but he doesn’t push Pete off, in fact he barely moves seemingly not wanting to disturb Pete from his kitty-slumber.

“You can stay, little cat. For now at least,” Patrick says absently, not taking his eyes of his laptop, but giving Pete a little scratch on the neck.

Patrick rubs his nose again. He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “Allergies, cat,” he explain. “I hope you know I’m actually allergic to you hanging out here.” Pete makes a small meow, hopefully one that comes across as gratitude, or maybe even as an apology for being fluffy and causing Patrick’s allergies to flair. “It’s fine, cat. I won’t, like, die or anything. I just have the sniffles. You can stay.”

Pete head-butts Patrick’s hand in reply. It’s all he can do to show his gratitude. He could go home and climb back in his own open window, but apart from that he doesn’t really have anywhere to go as a cat, and even then he can’t feed himself; no thumbs to open things. 

Later, when Patrick showers, Pete lays on the bed sprawled out, and absolutely doesn’t go anywhere near the bathroom, even though the door is wide open. Obviously because Pete is a _cat_ , there’s no need for modesty on Patrick’s side, but Pete decides not to be a total creep and take advantage of the view when Patrick wanders around in a towel afterwards. He keeps his eyes tightly shut and rolls himself so that he’s facing the opposite direction.

Patrick orders Chinese take-out in Pete sits at his feet at first of all, but when Patrick grudgingly offers him a morsel of chicken, he hops up on the couch and takes a seat on the couch, waiting for another.

After dinner, Patrick takes out his phone and take a few pictures of Pete, “In case I need to make a Found Cat poster,” he says. Pete is usually no stranger to making posing, pouty faces in photographs, but he is when he has a cat face. He does his best though, turning his head, making his large cat eyes go even wider. He hopes he looks like a cute cat, hopes he puts on a good show for Patrick.

Patrick stares at Pete for a long moment, and Pete wonders if Patrick has any idea who he’s looking at. He doesn’t, obviously, because he says, “You kind of remind me of my asshole friend, Pete.”

Patrick has of course called Pete an asshole to his face, so that’s not new. But it’s always said with at least a hint of affection, and even now, Pete can detect fondness in Patrick’s tone. 

“He was a dick yesterday,” Patrick continues, and Pete is aware he was acting like a douchebag yesterday. He wound Patrick up even when he could see the forthcoming row, and instead of actually apologising or trying to diffuse the mess that they both created, Pete was a child about it and tried to get out of dealing with it properly, using his grown-up words. “But I guess I was, too,” Patrick continues. “We were both stressed and exhausted and it wasn’t fucking worth it. He’s not returning my texts, so I guess he’s pissed at me.”

Now Pete feels bad. He’d be all over those texts by now, joking and winding things up and maybe apologising too, but that could easily end up an afterthought. Pete knows Patrick inside out and he usually knows how to get around these situations without having to do much. It’s shitty behaviour and they both know it, but Pete still does it, and Patrick mostly lets him away with it which is arguably as bad.

Pete knows he can be difficult to handle sometimes, but it’s never nice seeing the repercussions up close and personal. Patrick is his best friend, and so much more than that, more than he’d admit to most people, especially Patrick. Maybe this is a much needed reminder that Pete should be kinder to people who care about him, and remember that they have feelings too.

Seeing as he’s currently a cat, he can’t talk or apologise or tell Patrick he’s going to try to stop being such an asshole in the future. He can’t even hug Patrick in lieu of words, so he does some cat-ish things instead, like headbutting Patrick’s hand again to show his affection. He puts his paws on Patrick’s check and sticks his fluffy head in against Patrick’s neck so that his whiskers scratch off Patrick’s skin. Pete’s still getting used to the fact that he has _claws_ so when he accidentally extends them into Patrick’s chest in his haste to show how much he cares, Patrick hisses lightly and moves him ever so slightly so that he’s not going to end up with injuries. 

Pete doesn’t mind, he’s hopefully made his point, and the purring starts again when Patrick says, “Yeah, you really do remind me of my asshole friend.”

Pete still doesn’t know if his contentment is a cat thing or a being-close-to-Patrick thing, but he closes his eyes and falls asleep pushed up against Patrick’s thigh.

*

The next day, Patrick has to go out and he won’t let Pete go with him, because why would he take a cat with him anyway? It’s not so normal for a cat to follow a human around the city, Pete supposes, and Pete doesn’t want to hang out on his own, but he concedes. He knows Patrick is coming back, so he stretches out on Patrick’s big comfy armchair and enjoys the afternoon as a cat. He curls into a circle and sleeps for a while. After that he stares out the window and has a desire to chase the birds on the balcony like he’s never had before. Next he finds a nice warm patch of sunlight and stretches out on his back with his paws in the air, happy as a clam. 

He's enjoying his life as a cat right now; he has zero responsibilities, gets tons of snuggly cuddles from Patrick, and he gets to relax all day. It’s an easy life, and his overall, general and all-consuming anxiety has faded to a pale grey that barely bothers him most of the time. 

But on the flipside, he misses his stupid human body more than he ever really imagined he would. It’s the body that runs too hot when he sleeps, the body that aches all over when he can’t sleep for days, the body that betrays him by getting turned on at inopportune times, but he’d still take that body over a fluffy one. He misses his voice, and while he’s better at expressing himself though the written word, often putting his foot in it when he speaks, he wishes he could communicate. He wants to be able to say _anything_ to Patrick, even if it was just to explain that he’s a cat now, but of course he can’t, and a meow has to suffice. Even the thought that he won’t be able to write or create anymore is a little heart-breaking if he dwells on it.

If he does get stuck like this, stuck as a _cat_ , he’ll get over it, though…eventually. It’s certainly not his preference, but it’s not so bad, not with Patrick looking after him like this. While he can’t thank Patrick for his care and attention and love - no, not love. Well, maybe love - he can do his best to be a good cat, a companion for Patrick, and not a naughty cat that scratches up furniture or pisses in the laundry hamper.

Patrick finds him hours later, still on the rug in the sunlight and stuck halfway between thinking and sleeping, still chilled out and on his back, and Pete looks at him with half closed eyes. He arches against Patrick’s hand when he rubs Pete’s belly, carding through the thick fluff. It’s a really thorough cuddle, and Pete is so content that the purring is back, full force and very audible, but he can’t bring himself to feel any shame; he’s just so grateful to have Patrick taking care of him.

*

Pete wakes up the following morning and stretches. He feels different to when he went to sleep, but he can’t put his finger on why, so he stretches again. He’s cold, and Patrick’s comforter feels a little rougher against his fur. Or not. No fur? He opens his eyes and looks at his hands, and they’re actually hands this time. Huh. Which means. 

He startles a little, lifting his head, and yes, he’s back in his own body. Human, and in Patrick’s bed, under the covers. And Naked. 

Patrick is asleep beside him, and this is probably going to take some explaining. Maybe Pete can steal some clothes and slip off home before Patrick notices.

Pete isn’t that lucky, though. He never is. Patrick opens his eyes, catches sight of Pete and instantly goes wide eyed and stricken.

“Pete. What the fuck?” His voice is muffled by his arm, and he closes his eyes again quickly, like closing them might make Pete go away. “Did you just let yourself in? After two days, you just fucking show up?” He opens his eyes more and his gaze travels down Pete’s bare torso until it disappears under the blankets. Patrick frowns, connecting at least some of the dots. “And - are you half naked? Jesus, Pete!”

Pete is completely naked, but it’s not the point. Patrick’s not good with early mornings and Pete knows it, but he still thinks he should start to try to explain. “Patrick. This is going to sound fucking weird-“

“Pete,” Patrick sighs, still sounding half asleep. “It’s too early. Fucking put some clothes on you weirdo, and then go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t sound pissed, at least not as pissed as Pete had expected. Pete waits until Patrick rolls over and faces the wall, then he slips out of bed carefully and grabs sweats and a shirt from Patrick’s closet. He takes time and care to dress himself, so happy to have his own arms and legs and neck and belly and ass back, all the way they should be. There’s no fluff, no tail, no whiskers, and he never thought he’d miss shaving, but when he scrubs his hand over his jaw, he actually looks forward to not having a fuzzy face.

He crawls back into bed beside Patrick and snuggles down. He doesn’t sleep again right away, and he spends most of the time before Patrick wakes again staring at the ceiling, wiggling his totally human toes, flexing his human muscles, and he maybe even shoves his hand down his sweats very briefly to check that everything is back to normal down there too, just because he can.

Pete does fall asleep again, and maybe that’s residual cat behaviour, because he doesn’t usually fall asleep that easily. When he wakes, Patrick is in the kitchen making coffee and puttering around, and his only reaction when he spots Pete is to grab another mug and pour him a coffee.

“Why did you come over in the middle of the night?”  
“I didn’t,” Pete says carefully.  
“You did, though.”

“No,” Pete says carefully. “I’ve been here the whole time. And I know that sounds weird, but what’s weirder is - Okay, so you know that little black cat that showed up at your house and sort of insisted on staying?”

“Yeah. Did you see him actually? I haven’t seen him since I woke up. You don’t think he ran outside when you let yourself in do you?” Patrick sounds concerned, and Pete feels bad because _of course_ the little cat hasn’t run off, he’s just not here anymore. “Wait,” Patrick says. “How’d you know a cat just showed up at my house and insisted on coming in?”

“Okay, you don’t have to believe me, because I don’t think I’d believe anyone if they told me. And I promise I’ve been taking all my meds in the correct dosage, but that little cat was me. For the past two days, I’ve been a fucking fluffy little asshole cat, and I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here because-” Pete stops himself, and then says quietly and earnestly, “because I knew you’d look after me.”

Patrick is silent, thinking and furrow-browed. 

“You were a cat?”  
“Yep.”  
“You were that little black cat? _My_ cat?”  
“Yep.” And Pete’s insides swoop down low at the thoughts of being _Patrick’s_.  
“Okay,” Patrick says, and Pete grins, wanting to kiss Patrick for how accepting he always is for the crazy things that Pete says or does or comes up with. It doesn’t even surprise Pete, he regularly wants to kiss Patrick anyway. “Dude, you’re a cuddly cat.”

Pete laughs. “Does that surprise you? Of course I’m going to be a fucking cuddly animal. Have you met me before?”

“How?”  
Pete shrugs. “I’ve no idea.” He spent a lot of his cat-time thinking about what sorcerer in disguise he might have crossed, or what cursed apple he may have eaten. Every time he’s come up with a big fat blank, and now that he has his human body back, he’s not sure he can allocate any energy to figuring it out. “I don’t even think I care. I’m just happy to be back.”  
“Me too. I mean, you’re a sweet cat, but I kind of missed you.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah, I thought you were being a jerk ignoring me.” Patrick thinks for a second, his brow furrowing, and then says, “But I told you that. Dude, that’s fucking sneaky. I could have been giving away all my secrets and I would never have known it was you.”

“So, now what happens?”  
“It’s still early. We’re not in the studio for hours yet.”

Their previous argument still hasn’t been mentioned, and Pete decides he’s going to be a decent human being for once, seeing as he’s actually a human being again. 

“Sorry I was a jerk,” Pete says, because he is sorry.  
Patrick gives him a little smile. “Me too.”

“Do you wanna, like-“ Patrick looks like he’s reconsidering his words, but he gives Pete a look full of _something_ that Pete can’t place. “I mean, you’re a cat so I don’t think it counts as a hug, but-“  
“You wanna hug it out?” Pete grins.

Patrick laughs. “Yeah.”

Pete moves in much closer, and Pete is hardly ever shy when he’s hugging Patrick, often reaching a hug-quota early on in the day, but he hesitates for a second until Patrick lifts his arm, a welcoming gesture.

It’s a solid hug, better than any kitty-headbutting Pete did when he was a cat. They’re on equal ground now. Pete pretends he still has the super sense of smell he had when he was a cat, inhaling the smell of Patrick’s washing powder from his shirt, the scent of his skin, but he only does it enough for it to not be creepy.

They pull apart, but only marginally. Pete lays his head on Patrick’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He feels the contentment roll over him as Patrick cards through his hair. He smiles to himself, and if he could, he’d purr.


End file.
